Sunday, February 28, 2010

Something in the night went "boom!" in my head and when I woke up I discovered we had no running water. This was not until I had flushed one of the toilets and realized that in order to make the flushing work the next time, I'd have to fill a bucket of water...from the river...and down where the road ends and one drives through the river to get to the other side. It's decidedly better, I'm thinking, to collect the water from the river before it reaches that point - less gas and other pollutants to screw up the septic system. My experiences with lack of water go pretty far back: renting a house without water in Morocco, living as part of the caretaking crew of two at El Rancho Navarro in Mendocino County, where the pump had to be primed sometimes once a week, being without water at parties at my ex-sister-in-law's, with Casey having to fill the container, and living at my niece's house in Tamil Nadu, with no running water.

On this day, or at least I think on this day, we decide to drive up the mountain, past the river at Tom's place, and journey to the top. This means that we'll be going over rocks and holes and pockets of water in a road that Tom's not driven in a couple of years, and "going" means the distance of driving perhaps three miles. It's truly beautiful -- there are more than a few places that are turn-offs in the road to places built, or being built, or in the imagination of being built -- and the views of the vegetation, the valley and the sea are more prodigious the more we ascend... When we reach the top of this "road," there's a waterfall, though of small proportions, but with many rocks which spend through the downfall... The dogs, Muttonhead (or is it Muttinhead?) and Rocky, find an easier way to get down and back, which I follow, because I'm only wearing thongs on my feet... Muttinhead likes to sit half-submerged in the flow... Rocky's right by his Master's side...

Traveling back down the road, I think this is, indeed, lovely country. Toward town, we pass the only vehicle we've seen and they yell out to us, "Is this the way to the waterfall?" I wonder if they'll be brave enough to traverse the road...

Tom makes lunch -- chili and grilled cheese sandwiches with avocados. It's enough for me for the rest of the day, but clutters up the kitchen with dirty dishes. Since he's waiting for whichever of Sadie's daughters will come to wash dishes, and we have no water, I'm wondering when I'll be able step in and do them!

The T.V. is almost always on here, as it is at home, but Tom's got more stations. And, when the screening is in English, the subtitles are prominent, which makes translation instantaneous. However, we did watch Apocalypse Now in an MP4 file which Tom requested from me about 36 hours before I came here. Most stores were closed after I went the first night to Best Buy where they were out of it, so hence the MP4 file from my son, Seamus. Tom asked me if I had ever read "Heart of Darkness," which I hadn't but knew that Apocalypse Now was based on it. So, in a hammock, I re-open my long ago attention to British fiction apres 1850 and re-discover Joseph Conrad and his inimitable writing style. War. "The horror! The horror!"

Monday, February 22, 2010

Last night, in anticipation of dinner and without receiving a reply from the "Pizza" restaurant, Tom says,"Let's go down on the bike and find out what what's happening. I cant get an answer over the phone." "Ok," I agree. We journey down to the bottom of the small grade and determine that they are not doing pizza... So, we turn a sharp corner and plunk down, overturned until we upright the bike and assess the damages -- they're all to ourselves. Tom's knee's cut open, I can't feel anything damaged, and we both upright the bike. He rides it home. (I'll not ride it again!) My sandal's ripped in another place... I try to limp home, but Tom comes riding down in the Tracker and we go to the SuperMarchado where he buys food that he wants for Spaghetti and I cook it. (You've got to understand that some people who think of Italian food do not have the slightest evidence of what Italian food is; in reality, we ate Costa Rican spaghetti.)

This morning, Monday, we both woke up in pain. I thought it might be my liver but when I touched my ribs, I could feel the tenderness and looked at the baseball-sized black-and-blue mark on my arm... Hurts! I'm hoping Tom is not hurt worse.

We drive down to town and I find a pair of thongs at the SuperMarchado... We also purchase tickets to take a boat down the Sierpe River tomorrow night and view the crocodiles...

Since the Tucan Hotel is nearby we go there for dinner and I was introduced to Tom's friend Noah, who later came with us to La Cascada... The music was good but I think a little better at La Cascada than at the Tucan although the piano player was pretty good at the Tucan...

It's a long trek from Davide to the border... The road is straight and two lanes on either side. When we arrive at the Salida side of Panama we enter a long line of shops which are discount shops and prices are pretty cheap, so Tom buys a couple of pairs of shorts and a belt for a cheaper price than we saw in the mall. We stop at the liquor store and stock up on booze for him and for me... The wait at the Entrada side of the border is sticky and very hot, but is over in twenty minutes.

We arrive home and he calls up a dealer friend and we listen to the Talking Heads and Blondie and a couple of his friends come over and we get into a discussion until early morning on preferences and predilections in pornography...

We leave early, around 9:30 a.m. or so, and head down the coast toward Panama so that Tom can renew his residency here in Costa Rica. Before we get to the border, I notice many groves of tall palm trees, which he's quick to point out, are planted for palm tree oil. The road is good, although there are some pot holes.

We pull up to the border crossing and park Tom's car in a lot outside, and proceed through the myriad stalls, not stopping until we get to the
Salida from Costa Rica and Entrada to Panama... Tom runs into somebody who recognizes him and informs him that one of the necessary procedures has been eliminated; what this means to me is probably Greek but the two of them say that it's good. Anyway, we take a cab for $25 into the town of Davide and go to a hotel that Tom's stayed at before.

Since we're both fairly starving, we immediately take a cab to a Mexican restaurant (called 'Mrs. Marguerita's,' or something like that) and have a sample plate of taco, burrito and nachos and three Margueritas each... Went back to the hotel where I hooked in to the internet. This is something I can't do at Tom's house; his hook up is incomplete - it has no wi-fi.

Later on, he decides to go to a movie and I stay and update my blog. It's as hard to write on the internet at Tom's house as it was in India. It's just that sometimes people don't realize that the internet is simply not personal...

It's Tuesday, and I'm watching a Steely Dan video... Not a whole lot of anything else going on... We watch a couple of other flicks, although they're nothing that I can remember... On Wednesday, we just hung around the house doing pretty much the same thing... The only thing that I can remember is that we seemed to drink a lot. But, on Wednesday, we did go out to dinner at a place called "Exotica" and ate a dinner which was 'comparable' to U.S. standards, according to everyone involved... The food was good, and I had a piece of fish in banana curry which was excellent... The people that we ate with were friends of Tom's, Dave and Linda, and are living in his cabin; Dave is a chef, who works at a seaside restaurant near Uvita and along the coast...

Thursday, February 18, 2010

On every road, between San Jose and Fortuna and Monteverde and Uvita, you're hit with the fact that there's lots of property for sale, lots of hotels, hostels and apartacados for rent...

Yesterday, I walked all over town looking for a place where I could find a needle and thread because the strap to my sandal ripped off. I looked in three supermarchados and walked into a tourist agency to find out if they know where there might be a shoemaker. The young man said he was not aware of one and looked at my feet and asked me, "Are those Keen shoes?"

Back at the hostel, there is a Chilean girl who says she has been traveling for six (6) years; she claims it's an addiction. She makes jewelry and sells it wherever she goes. I ask her if she has a needle and thread and she gives me a needle and we unravel some cotton thread. I ask her for a scissors. It takes an inordinate amount of time working the needle through the leather and when she notices, she finds her pliers and hands them to me. After I finish, we go out together to an Internet place. They're cheap here at 450 colones per hour. She gets up and goes to the bathroom but doesn't return...

Monday morning, early (6:15 a.m.), I walk to the bus terminal from Gringo Pete's Too to catch the bus to San Jose and I run into Fernando, the same guy who traveled to Fortuna with me from the hotel in San Jose, who's going to return to Nicaragua as his vacation is over. The bus is a local and takes 4 hours to return to San Jose with a changeover at San Carlos. The bus is packed full. I asked what he did in Fortuna and he says that he just stayed in town... When we arrive near San Jose, the bus makes a stop at the airport, so I turn around and tell him maybe he should get off here and excitedly, he says "You are right! Good luck on your trip!"

I arrive in San Jose and catch a cab to the MUSOC terminal where I am going to board the bus for San Isidro. I get there at 10:45 a.m. and run in and purchase my ticket. I only have a few moments to try to call my friend Tom in Uvita to let him know that I will be on the 11:00 a.m. bus, but I drop 150 colones in the slot and get no response, so I turn to a girl on the street and she says she doesn't understand English but asks where I want to call. I immediately respond "Uvita" and she pulls out her cell phone and punches in Tom's number and I breathlessly tell him I'm gonna be on the bus to San Isidro if I don't miss it.

After I hang up and thank the girl for her infinite kindness, I run back over to the bus terminal and race to the toilet, handing the lady the coin for the toilet and rush into the banos. I guess I didn't notice until afterward that it was the "caballeros" that I had run into!

The buses on the MUSOC line are all made by Mercedes Benz. This bus was brand new, elevated and very clean and uncrowded. It even made a banos stop! The buses ride up and down the mountain surprisingly slow and supposedly carefully because this is a very dangerous road, with hairpin turns and fog at different sections. These buses have thermometers that record the temperature whenever it changes. On this trip the temperature ranges from 37 degrees C. down to 17 degrees.

I meet Tom in San Isidro. It's been 34 years since we've seen each other. Whoa!